Page 12 of Penalized Love

“Isla Johnson?” a nurse calls, and I stand up faster than I should have.

Mom squeezes my hand, and I look down at her. “Want me to come with you?”

I hesitate for a moment, wondering which option to take. “I... I want you to come in with me.”

Mom nods, and soon, we’re following the nurse down a long hallway. As we reach a door marked “Exam Room 3,” she gestures for us to enter. We take our seats, me in the examining chair and my mom in a regular chair nearby. The nurse takes myvitals before announcing that Dr. Patel will be in a few minutes. I pull my phone out to give myself something to do while we wait.

A few minutes later, Dr. Eva Patel enters, her kind smile doing little to ease the knot in my stomach that has only grown in size. “Hello, Isla. How are you feeling today?”

I force a weak smile. “A little nauseous, but I guess I’m more nervous than anything.”

She nods, and I can feel the sympathy in her gaze. How bad are my results, or am I just overthinking everything? I watch as she takes a seat before pulling up my file on her tablet.

Dr. Patel clears her throat and says, “I understand. Let’s review your test results, shall we?”

I choose to stare at the woman who is about to reveal my fate. Dr. Patel reviews the results on her tablet. Her expression gives nothing away, and I’m unsure of what to think. Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand, silently offering her support. The seconds that it takes Dr. Patel to speak feel like hours.

“Isla,” Dr. Patel begins, her voice gentle yet unwavering, “your blood test results and your ultrasound show that you have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome or PCOS.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. It feels as if my world is crashing down around me, though all the while, relief floods my veins. We have an answer? It’s PCOS? I’ve heard of it before but never gave it more than a passing thought. This isn’t supposed to happen to me. My mind races with questions as I struggle to keep myself from breaking apart.

A single teardrop falls from my eye. “Wait. You’re actually able to diagnose me? We know what’s wrong with me?”

Dr. Patel reaches over and takes my hand. “Yes, we are. Based on what you’ve shared with us in your intake chart, I’m so sorry it took this long for you to find the answer that you were searching for.”

Another tear falls and it is quickly followed by more. “You believe me.”

“Of course I do,” Dr. Patel says as Mom comes over to hug me.

Thankfully, Mom is able to talk for me because I’ve started sobbing into her sweater. “We’ve been to appointment after appointment trying to figure out what was going on with her body, and now we finally know. You don’t know how much of a relief it is. We now know what we are fighting against.”

I know there is no way I could have said it better myself.

“I’m glad that I’ve helped,” Dr. Patel says.

“You really have. What... what does it mean?” I ask after I finally pull myself together. My voice is so quiet that it is barely above a whisper, and I wonder if she even heard me.

Mom has moved back to where she was before but grabs my hand once more to squeeze it tighter. I’m so thankful I told her I wanted her to come back here with me.

I still am trying to process that I was believed and that we now have an answer about why I feel the way I do sometimes.

Dr. Patel explains the condition, but her words blur together as I process the news. She mentions irregular periods, hormone imbalances, and potential fertility issues down the line. My fertility isn’t something I’ve focused on, and now I’m being forced to. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes again as she continues to talk to us.

I look over at Mom and see she’s on the verge of crying too. She’s trying to be strong for me, but she can’t mask the concern on her face.

“Is there a cure?” I ask, my voice trembling.

Dr. Patel shakes her head. “Unfortunately, there is no cure for PCOS, but there are treatments available to manage the symptoms and reduce the risk of complications.”

She discusses various options, from lifestyle changes to medication, but my mind is reeling. Nothing is making sense, yet in a way, it all does.

As the appointment comes to a close, Dr. Patel gives me her recommendations for dietary changes and some medication that I’m nervous to take but will try if it can help me feel better. We can pick up the prescription on the way home, and I can see Mom already making notes about what I should and shouldn’t eat.

I leave the doctor’s office with Mom in what can only be described as a daze. We walk back to the car, and once we fasten our seatbelts, Mom doesn’t bother turning on the engine. Instead, we sit there in silence, both of us lost in our thoughts. The reality of my diagnosis is slowly sinking in now that I’m away from prying eyes, and it’s filling me with fear.

“Mom,” I whisper, my voice cracking, “I’m scared.”

She reaches across the console and pulls me into a tight hug. “I know, baby. I know. But we’ll get through this together, I promise.”

---